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I          R1LEY  FAVORITES 

:^rzzi^zr^^zz^iz^zi^zzzzz_ 
•z. 

33 

2 

I  A  Song  of  Long  Ago 

II  He  and  I 

3 

jl  When  My  Dreams  Come  True 
The  Kose 
Away 

Her  Beautiful  Eyes 
Do  They  Miss  Me 


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R1LEY  FAVORITES 


JAMES  WHITCOMB  R1LEY 


A  SONG  OF  LONG  AGO 

HE  AND  I 

WHEN  MY  DREAMS  COME  TRUE 
THE  KOSE 

AWAY 

HEK  BEAUTIFUL  EYES 
DO  THEY  MISS  ME 


DECORATED  BY 
EMILY  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN 


THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


V-saros. 


Copyright.  1883,  1887,  1888,  1890,  1891,  1892,  1894, 
1897,  1898,  1901,  1905,  1913 

by 
JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 

All  rights  reserved 


c 


A   SONG   OF 
LONG    AGO 

SONG  of  Long  Ago: 
Sing  it  lightly — 

sing  it  low — 

it  softly — like  the  lisping 
of  the  lips  we  used  to  know 

When  our  baby- laughter  spilled 
From  the  glad  hearts  ever  filled 


With 


music 


blithe 


as 


robin  ever  trilled  1 


Let  the  fragrant  summer-breeze, 
And  the  leaves  of  locust-trees, 

And  the  apple- buds  and 
blossoms,  and  the 

wings  of  honey-bees, 

AH  palpitate  with  glee, 
Till  the  happy  harmony 

Brings  back  each  childish 

joy  to  you  and  me. 


Let  the  eyes  of  fancy  turn 
Where  the  tumbled  pippins  burn 

Like  embers  in  the  orchard's  lap 
of  tangled  grass  and  fern, — 

There  let  the  old  path  wind 
In  and  out  and  on  behind 

The  cider^press  that 

chuckles  as  we  grind. 


Blend  in  the  song  the  moan 
Of  the  dove  that  grieves  alone, 

And  the  wild  whir  of  the  locust, 
and  the  bumble's 

drowsy  drone; 

And  the  low  of  cows  that  call 

Through  the  pasture- 
bars  when  all 

The  landscape  fades 

away  at  evenfall. 


18  r 


Then,  far  away  and  clear, 
Through  the  dusky  atmosphere, 

Let  the  wailing  of  the  kildee  be 
the  only  sound  we  hear : 

O  sad  and  sweet  and  low 
As  the  memory  may  know 

Is  the  glad-pathetic 

song  of  Long  Ago  1 


'.    ',.   - 


HE  AND  1 

jf-UST  drifting 

on  together — 

He  and  I — 


As  through  the  balmy  weather 

Of  July 
Drift  two  thistle-tufts  imbedded 

Each  in  each — by 

zephyrs  wedded— 

Touring  upward, 

giddy-headed. 

For  the  skv. 


And,  veering  up  and  onward, 

Do  we  seem 

Forever  drifting  dawnward 
In  a  dream, 

Where  we  meet  song-birds 

that  know  us, 

And  the  winds 

their  kisses  blow  us, 

While  the  years  flow 

far  below  us 

Like  a  stream. 


mmmmrn 


And  we  are  happy — very — 

He  and  I — 

Aye,  even  glad  and  merry 
Though  on  high 

The  heavens  are 

sometimes  shrouded 

By  the  midnight  storm, 

and  clouded 

Till  the  pallid  moon  is  crowded 
From  the  sky. 


My  spirit  ne'er  expresses 
Any  choice 

But  to  clothe  him 

with  caresses 

And  rejoice; 
And  as  he  laughs,  it  is  in 

Such  a  tone  the 

moonbeams  glisten 

And  the  stars  come  out 

to  listen 

To  his  voice. 


And  so,  whate'er  the  weather, 
He  and  I,— 

With  our  lives  linked 

thus  together, 

Float  and  fly 
As  two  thistle-tufts  imbedded 

Each  in  each — by 

zephyrs  wedded — 

Touring  upward  giddy-headed, 


WHEN  MY  DREAMS 
COME  TRUE 

HEN  my  dreams 
come  true — when 
my  dreams  come 

true — 

Shall  1  lean  from  out  my  case" 
ment,  in  the  starlight 

and  the  dew, 

To  listen — smile  and  listen  to 

the  tinkle  of  the  strings 


Of  the  sweet  guitar  my  lover's 
fingers  fondle,  as  he  sings  ? 

And  as  the  nude  moon  slowly, 
slowly  shoulders  into  view, 

Shall  I  vanish  from  his  vision — 
when  my  dreams  come  true? 

When  my  dreams  come  true — 
shall  the  simple  gown  I  wear 

Be  changed  to  softest  satin, 

and  my  maiden-braided  hair 


Be  raveled  into  flossy  mists 

of  rarest,  fairest  gold. 

To  be  minted  into  kisses,  more 
than  any  heart  can  hold  ?  — 

Or  "  the  summer  of  my 

tresses"  shall  my  lover  liken  to 

'  The  fervor  of  his  passion'  — 
when  my  dreams  come  true  ? 

When  my  dreams  come  true — 
1  shall  bide  among  the  sheaves 


Of  happy  harvest  meadows 


The  meanest  sheaf  of  harvest — 
when  my  dreams  come  true. 


When  my  dreams  come  true  I 
when  my  dreams  come  true ! 

True  love  in  all  simplicity  is 

fresh  and  pure  as  dew; — 

The  blossom  in  the  blackest 

mold  is  kindlier  to  the  eye 

Than  any  lily  born  of  pride 

that  looms  against  the  sky : 

And  so  it  is  I  know  my  heart 

will  gladly  welcome  you, 

My  lowliest  of  lovers, 

when  my  dreams  come  true. 


THE  ROSE 

T  tossed  its  head  at 
the  wooing  breeze ; 

And  the  sun,  like 
a  bashful  swain, 

Beamed  on  it 

through  the  waving  trees 

With  a  passion  all  in  vain, — 

For  my  rose  laughed 

in  a  crimson  glee, 

And  hid  in  the  leaves 

in  wait  for  me. 


The  honey-bee 

came  there  to  sing 

His  love  through 

the  languid  hours, 

And  vaunt  of  his  hives, 

as  a  proud  old  king 

Might  boast  of  his 

palace-towers : 


But  my  rose  bowed 


in  a  mockery, 


And  hid  in  the  leaves 

in  wait  for  me. 


The  humming-bird, 

like  a  courtier  gay, 

Dipped  down  with 

a  dalliant  song, 

And  twanged  his  wings 

through  the  roundelay 

Of  love  the  whole  day  long : 

Yet  my  rose  turned 

from  his  minstrelsy 

And  hid  in  the  leaves 

in  wait  for  me. 


The  firefly  came 

in  the  twilight  dim 

My  red,  red  rose  to  woo — 

Till  quenched  was  the 

flame  of  love  in  him 

And  the  light  of 

his  lantern  too, 

As  my  rose  wept 

with  dewdrops  three 

And  hid  in  the  leaves 

in  wait  for  me. 


f/>  flf'f 


And  [  said :  I  will  cull 

my  own  sweet  rose — 

Some  day  1  will  claim  as  mine 

The  priceless  worth  of 

the  flower  that  knows 

No  change,  but  a 

bloom  divine — 

The  bloom  of  a 

fadeless  constancy 

That  hides  in  the  leaves 

in  wait  for  me ! 


But  time  passed  by 

in  a  strange  disguise, 

And  I  marked  it  not,  but  lay 

In  a  lazy  dream, 

with  drowsy  eyes, 

Till  the  summer  slipped  away, 

And  a  chill  wind  sang 

in  a  minor  key: 

"  Where  is  the  rose 

that  waits  for  thee  ?  " 


.*.•*..».•• 


I  dream  to-day, 

o'er  a  purple  stain 

Of  bloom  on  a  withered  stalk, 

Pelted  down  by  the  autumn  rain 

In  the  dust  of  the  garden- walk, 

That  an  Angel-rose 

in  the  world  to  be 

Will  hide  in  the  leaves 

in  wait  for  me. 


or 

W'"4    •--.  • 


AWAY 

CANNOT  say,  and 
I  will  not  say 

That  he  is  dead. — 
He  is   just   away! 

With  a  cheery  smile, 

and  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
He  has  wandered  into 

an  unknown  land, 


And  left  us  dreaming 

how  very  fair 
It  needs  must  be, 

since  he  lingers  there. 

And  you — O  you, 

who  the  wildest  yearn 
For  the  old-time  step 

and  the  glad  return, — 


Think  of  him  faring  on, 

as  dear 
In  the  love  of  There 

as  the  love  of  Here; 

And  loyal  still, 

as  he  gave  the  blows 
Of  his  warrior-strength 

to  his  country's  foes.— 


o 


Mild  and  gentle, 

as  he  was  brave, — 
When  the  sweetest  love 

of  his  life  he  gave 

To  simple  things:  — 

Where  the  violets  grew 
Blue  as  the  eyes 

they  were  likened  to, 


G> 
«3  % 


The  touches  of  his  hands 

have  strayed 
As  reverently  as  his 

lips  have  prayed: 

When  the  little  brown  thrush 

that  harshly  chirred 
Was  dear  to  him 

as  the  mocking-bird : 


And  he  pitied  as  much 


as  a  man  in  pain 
A  writhing  honey-bee 

wet  with  rain. — 

Think  of  him  still  as 

the  same,  1  say: 
He  is  not  dead — 

he  is  just  awayf 


HER    BEAUTIFUL 
EYES 


HER  beautiful 
eyes  I  they  are  blue 
as  the  dew 


On  the  violet's  bloom 
when  the  morning  is  new, 


And  the  light  of  their  iove 

is  the  gleam  of  the  sun 


O'er  the  meadows  of  Spring 
where  the  quick  shadows  run 

As  the  morn  shifts  the  mists 
and  the  clouds  from  the  skies — 

So  I  stand  in  the  dawn 

of  her  beautiful  eyes. 


And  her  beautiful  eyes 

are  as  mid-day  to  me. 

When  the  lify-bell  bends 
with  the  weight  of  the  bee, 

And  the  throat  of  the  thrush 

is  a-pulse  in  the  heat, 


And  the  senses  are  drugged 
with  the  subtle  and  sweet 

And  delirious  breaths  of 

the  air's  lullabies — 

So  1  swoon  in  the  noon 

of  her  beautiful  eyes. 


I 

I 

O  her  beautiful  eyes!  they 

I 


have  smitten  mine  own 


As  a  glory  glanced  down 
from  the  glare  of  the  Throne; 


And  1  reel,  and  1  falter 

and  fall,  as  afar 


§ffipSrrHS& 
£T^^     ^5T 


Fell  the  shepherds  that 

looked  on  the  mystical  Star, 

And  yet  dazed  in  the  tidings 
that  bade  them  arise — 

So  1  groped  through  the 

night  of  her  beautiful  eyes. 


DO  THEY  MISS  ME 

T'S  the  curiousest 

thing  in  creation, 

Whenever  1  hear 

that  old  song 

"  Do  They  Miss  Me  at  Home," 

I'm  so  bothered, 

My  life  seems  as 

short  as  it's  long ! — 

Per  ev'rything  'pears  like  adzackly 

It  'peared  in  the  years 

past  and  gone, — 

When  1  started  out 

sparkin',  at  twenty, 

And  had  my  first 

neckercher  on! 


Though  I'm  wrinkelder, 

older  and  grayer 

Right  now  than  my 

parents  was  then, 

You  strike  up  that  song 

"Do  They  Miss  Me," 

And  I'm  jest  a 

youngster  again! — 

I'm  a^standin'  back  thare 

in  the  furries 

A'wishin'  fer  evening  to  come, 
And  a-whisperin'  over  and  over 

Them  words  "  Do  They 

Miss  Me  at  Home?" 


You  See,  Marthy  Ellen 

she  sung  it 

The  first  time  I 

heerd  it ;  and  so, 

As  she  was  my  very 

first  sweethart, 

it  reminds  me  of  her, 

don't  you  know; — 

How  her  face  ust  to  look, 

in  the  twilight, 

As  1  tuck  her  to  Spellin'; 

and  she 

Kep'  a-hummin'  that  song 

tel  1  ast  her, 

Pine-blank,  ef  she  ever 

missed  me! 


1 


1  can  shet  my  eyes  now, 

as  you  sing  it, 

And  hear  her  low 

answerin'  words ; 

And  then  the  glad  chirp 

of  the  crickets, 

As  clear  as  the  twitter  of  birds , 

And  the  dust  in  the  road 

is  like  velvet, 

And  the  ragweed  and 

fennel  and  grass 

Is  as  sweet  as  the  scent  of  the  lilies 
Of  Eden  of  old,  as  we  pass. 


*>•* 


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c^^> 

^>-A 


powdered 
White  bloonr 

whipperwill 


But  oh!     "  They's  a  chord 

in  the  music 

That's  missed  when  her 

voice  is  away!" 

Though  I  listen  from 

midnight  tel  morning, 

And  dawn  tel  the  dusk 

of  the  day ! 

And  I  grope  through  the 

dark,  lookin'  up'ards 

And  on  through  the 

heavenly  dome, 

With  my  longin'  soul 

singin'  and  sobbin' 

The  words  "  Do  They 

Miss  Me  at  Home?" 


. 


^^•^-^r— * 
,*f~~  . 
*   =^S* 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


PRINTED  IN  U.S. A 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001267577    3 


